


An Invitation You Can't Decline

by mysticanni



Series: The Real Life [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody - Fandom, Queen (Band)
Genre: Blackmail, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Prostitution, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 17:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20362024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: The band invites Jim ‘Miami’ Beach to dinner.Sequel to ‘No Escape From Reality’.





	An Invitation You Can't Decline

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Well, I didn't intend to write this, it just kinda happened, so I have no idea what to say about it!
> 
> It seems to have blithely ignored any kind of realistic Real Life timescales, but since it is fiction I hope that is forgivable.
> 
> Anything remotely legal-sounding is completely made up.
> 
> I don't think you need to have read No Escape From Reality first although this does refer to that, particularly to Roger's story, so it might make more sense if you read that too.

Brian had a tendency to place Roger on top of things, scooping him up and perching him on kitchen counters; pianos; packing crates; filing cabinets; chests of drawers; post-boxes; fences. John thought it came from the same place as the need they all had to gather Roger up and hold him on their laps. Where he was safe.

  
Brian had always placed Roger on top of things, even before they had been in a relationship. Once the four of them were together, this behaviour escalated. John wholeheartedly approved: Roger perched somewhere safe, out of harm’s way, was desirable.

  
‘Trying to put me back on the shelf, Bri?’ Roger had joked once, but he did not complain, seeming to understand that Brian needed this.

  
He had once jumped down from his perch without waiting for Brian to lift him off. Brian had been extremely put out and had sulked for the best part of a week. Roger always waited now.

  
John had suggested to Brian that he might be just a tad over-protective of Roger; perhaps just a bit possessive sometimes. Brian had snorted. ‘If you had your way, Deaks, he would never be allowed to leave the house. You’d have him constantly curled up in your lap, like one of Fred’s cats, if you could.’ Which was undeniably true.

  
*

  
The publicist tapped the photo lying on the table they were seated at. ‘I understand that the four of you are...’ he grimaced.

  
‘Fucking each other,’ Ray Foster interjected.

  
The new chap, the lawyer (Beach, was it?) raised an eyebrow at that.

  
‘Thank you Mr. Foster,’ the publicist smarmed, ‘I understand that you are...fond...of each other but you cannot be this lax in public.’ He tapped the photograph again.

  
The photograph showed Roger perched on Freddie’s knee. Exactly where he should be, in John’s opinion, but he reluctantly supposed the publicist had a point.

  
‘Roggie’s sorry, aren’t you, darling?’ Freddie winked at him. Roger stuck his tongue out at him.

  
‘Do behave, dear,’ Freddie trilled.

  
‘Keep him in line,’ Ray Foster growled, pointing at Roger. ‘He behaves like a fucking five year old.’ He slapped his hand on to the photograph. ‘You look like a rent-boy,’ he sneered at Roger.

  
Roger froze.

  
‘How dare you?’ Freddie gasped.

  
‘Take that back!’ Brian growled.

  
‘Apologise! Immediately!’ John demanded.

  
‘I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,’ Roger whispered.

  
‘See that it doesn’t.’ Ray Foster stood and swept out with his coterie of assistants following. Only the lawyer remained, leaning quietly against the wall, watching the band.

  
‘We should sue him for slander!’ Brian said angrily.

  
The lawyer, studying Roger closely, cleared his throat. ‘That only works if it isn’t true.’

  
Tearful blue eyes met his.

  
‘Why are you still here?’ John snapped. ‘Rog, I didn’t mean for you to apologise!’ he added softly.

  
Roger remained seated but the others stood and gathered around him, protectively. Roger was now crying.

  
‘Get out,’ Freddie growled.

  
‘Do I need to serve anyone with a gagging order to keep your secret?’ the lawyer asked calmly.

  
‘It isn’t true!’ John snarled.

  
‘It kind of is,’ Brian pointed out, looking uncomfortable.

  
‘It doesn’t count as prostitution if you are taking money from paedophiles, Brian!’ John hissed.

  
Roger made a distressed, choking sound.

  
‘There, there, darling,’ Freddie rubbed Roger’s back. He glared at the lawyer. ‘What’s your name, dear?’

  
‘Jim Beach.’

  
‘Well, Jim Beach, why don’t you serve yourself with a gagging order and fuck off?’ Freddie suggested.

  
Roger sniffled. ‘Fred, stop. He’s trying to help.’ He accepted the cotton handkerchief the lawyer held out to him. ‘Thanks.’

  
‘I’m bound by client confidentiality,’ the lawyer noted.

  
‘You are being nosy,’ John said coldly.

  
‘Perhaps a bit,’ the lawyer admitted. ‘Although I do think I’d be more useful to you if I knew where, so to speak, the bodies are buried.’

  
Jim Beach watched Roger, who was clearly making a huge effort to pull himself together. He noticed the others exchange glances over Roger’s head.

  
Roger blew his nose. His big blue eyes found Jim’s again and his face brightened. ‘You should come to dinner tonight, Mr. Beach,’ he declared. ‘I could cook for you!’

  
Freddie looked searchingly at Roger. ‘You trust him, Roggie, darling?’ Roger nodded. Freddie glanced at Jim. ‘Well, in that case you’ll need a better name, Jim Beach.’

  
‘You could come at seven?’ Roger ignored Freddie, who was pacing between the table and the window, clicking his fingers.

  
‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ Jim fished a pen and little notebook out of his jacket pocket. ‘What’s your address?’

  
He offered the pen and notebook to Roger but it was John that took them. John was scowling, plainly unhappy with this development. Brian had moved so that he was standing behind Roger, with his hands on Roger’s shoulders, as if he was concerned Roger might float away if not pinned down.

  
Freddie spun around and pointed dramatically at Jim. ‘Miami! That is your new name, dear! Miami Beach!’

  
Jim grinned. He accepted his pen and notebook back from John. He wanted to check John had actually noted their address for him (he had visions of finding a note telling him to fuck off, or some variant of that sentiment) but he managed to stop himself, simply tucking the notebook back in his pocket.

  
‘C’m’on, Rog, let’s get you home,’ Brian muttered, looking uneasily at Jim.

  
They fell into formation around Roger: Brian with his arm around Roger’s shoulders, steering him; John in front of them; Freddie at Roger’s side, slightly ahead of him.

  
From this cocoon Roger looked up at Jim as he passed and smiled, ‘See you tonight, Miami.’

  
*

  
Roger seemed excited and John felt guilty. The lawyer wasn’t going to show. John had given him the address of his dentist.  
He watched Roger chopping vegetables, humming along to the song currently on the radio and he felt sick. Roger looked so happy. So unsuspecting.

  
*

  
Miami peered out of the window. The taxi should be here by now. He didn’t want to be late. His hands were sweaty and he adjusted his grip on the bottle of expensive wine he was taking for them. He felt ridiculously nervous about this dinner party. He could not recall the last time he had been so anxious about a social occasion.

  
He went to dinner with clients and colleagues and potentially useful contacts all the time, and while it could be dull making polite conversation he was not usually nervous about those situations. Yet these starved-looking boys had him shaking like a leaf.

  
Spying the taxi turning into his street he headed for the door.

  
*

  
John obviously wasn’t going to confess. Roger nibbled at the skin of his index finger. He reached for his jacket. ‘Just going out for cigs, do we need anything else?’

  
Brian looked at his watch. ‘You couldn’t’ve gone earlier? Mr. Beach should be here soon.’

  
‘I’ll be quick,’ Roger promised. He glanced at John, who looked like he might vomit.

  
*

  
Miami watched the taxi drive away. He felt tears prickle his eyes and blinked furiously. He should have anticipated that the address John had written down for him might be a false one. He should have checked their actual address, which must be on file somewhere. He should have checked but he had not and now he felt like an old fool, standing outside a deserted dental office clutching a bottle of wine.

  
‘Miami!’

  
The voice was unmistakable, although slightly out of breath. He turned and saw Roger hurrying towards him, his eyes shining; his hair a tousled blond halo.

  
‘Sorry!' Miami found himself enveloped in an enthusiastic hug. He hugged back, fiercely. He inhaled cigarette smoke and a citrusy scent.

  
‘Sorry,’ Roger repeated, releasing him. ‘They can be a bit over-protective.’

  
Miami grinned stupidly and nodded. He understood perfectly. After all, who would not want to protect this fairy-tale creature?

  
Roger linked arms with him. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’ Miami asked.

  
‘I could see a bit of what he had written,’ Roger explained. ‘I’ve been waiting for him to own up. He’s got himself into a bit of a state about it now.’ Roger peered up at Miami through a curtain of hair. ‘He might not be at his best...’

  
He sounded anxious. Miami already knew that he could not bear Roger feeling anxious. ‘Are you going to confront him?’

  
‘No. Unless... Do you want me to?’

  
Miami shook his head. Roger looked relieved. ‘I told them I’d gone out for cigarettes. I thought I’d just say I saw you while I was out? Which is kind of true.’ He craned his neck, squinting up at Miami again. ‘Deaky’s lovely, I promise, just... over-protective.’

  
*

  
They lived relatively close to where the taxi had dropped him off. Roger pulled him inside, calling out: ‘Look who I found!’

  
He followed Roger from a dark, narrow, hall into a light airy room with a small kitchen at one end and a large living area. Brian uncoiled himself from a sagging sofa. He held out his hand. ‘Hello, again Mr. Beach.’

  
‘Miami,’ Freddie corrected him. ‘Hello, dear.’

  
John looked momentarily terrified then slightly annoyed.

  
‘For us, dear?’ Freddie relieved him of the bottle of wine. ‘Oooh! Lovely!’

  
Roger had excused himself to the kitchen. Something smelled delicious.

  
Without Roger’s arm in his, Miami felt rather lost. ‘Have a seat,’ Brian invited him.

  
They sat in awkward silence, Miami next to Brian on the ancient sofa. Freddie was fussing over the table settings and John was opening the wine. Roger wandered back over. He perched on the arm of the sofa next to Miami. ‘It’s nothing fancy, I’m afraid: potato and leek soup then veggie lasagne. Brian’s vegetarian.’

  
‘Sounds great, smells divine. Do you do all the cooking?’

  
Brian snorted. ‘Roger only cooks when he can be bothered. I do most of the cooking.’

  
Freddie smiled. ‘Brian does edible often. Roger does tasty sometimes.’

  
John grinned at that. Brian looked rather put-out. ‘Wine?’ John offered.

  
‘Roger is our little Fifties housewife,’ Freddie added. ‘Surprisingly domesticated.’

  
*

  
Miami had known them for two or three years the first time a jet-lagged Roger made him a mug of tea and forgot to put sugar in it. The way he apologised, flinching away from Miami as if expecting a blow to fall, made Miami think about that first night socialising with them. He had not known Roger’s story at that point; had not known how Roger might have become domesticated.

  
*

  
Once they were all at the table with soup, bread, wine and water, Miami asked, ‘How long have you all been together for?’

  
‘Around four months,’ Roger replied.

  
‘Four months and two days,’ Brian added.

  
John rolled his eyes. ‘If we are being exact about it then it has been four months, two days, twenty hours and twenty-two minutes.’

  
Roger grinned at him. ‘When are you counting from, Deaks?’

John flushed and glanced uncomfortably at Miami. ‘From when I kissed you.’

  
Roger looked ecstatic. Freddie smiled. Brian rolled his eyes.

  
*

  
John was torn between getting drunk and remaining sober enough to protect Roger. What Roger would need protection from John wasn’t sure but nevertheless...

  
Caught between wanting to drink heavily and stay sober John currently seemed to be heading for a state somewhere in-between.

  
Brian was doing Polite Questioning of An Adult. Where had the lawyer gone to University? How had he decided what area to specialise in?

  
Freddie occasionally asked questions too. Have you ever been arrested? What’s the silliest thing you’ve ever done?

  
Roger was asking everyone their favourites. Favourite colour? Favourite book? This led to a heated argument with Brian about whether black and white were colours or not. Roger insisted they had to be for the purposes of the ‘what is your favourite colour’ conversation.

  
*

  
They had progressed from soup to lasagne, opened another bottle of wine; enjoyed a sumptuous gateau. From the table to the sofa and the armchairs with liqueur laced coffees. The food had been excellent. It had not been fancy but Miami suspected Roger could do fancy if he put his mind to it.

  
He was comfortable in an armchair. Freddie had commandeered the other armchair. John and Brian were on the sofa and Brian had pulled Roger onto his lap. Miami noted that when Brian got up to go to the loo he gently lifted Roger over onto John’s lap. Roger made no move to claim Brian’s unoccupied seat.

  
Miami jumped as Freddie suddenly clapped his hands. ‘We should all go out! To that new club, the one Sandy was raving about the other day! You’d like that, Miami, darling, wouldn’t you?’

  
‘Uh... I should probably go home...’ Miami said weakly.

  
‘Oh, darling, don’t be so dull!’Freddie 

  
‘You will come, won’t you?’ Roger asked Miami, looking sweet and innocent.

  
Dangerous.

  
‘I have an early start tomorrow,’ Miami muttered, struggling out of the armchair. ‘I really ought to go home.’

  
‘Pipe, slippers, cocoa and bed?’ John sneered.

  
Roger slid off John’s lap and linked his arm with Miami’s again. ‘Just stay up,’ he suggested simply.

  
*

  
And that was how Miami ended up in a small, smoky, sweaty club. Dancing.

  
And he did not dance. He had never really danced. Yet now he had danced with Roger and Freddie and even John, who seemed to have thawed a little towards him. Brian seemed content to prop up the bar.

  
He followed Roger to the bar. He was close enough to hear one of the men next to Roger lean over and say: ‘I’ll get yours, darlin’. What d’you fancy?’ The man reached out and squeezed Roger’s bum.

Miami seethed.

  
Roger turned to the man. ‘You sure I’m your type, mate?’ he said pleasantly.

  
‘Fuckin’ freak!’ the man spat at him before storming off.

  
The others had noticed too and converged on Roger, who looked embarrassed. John squeezed Roger’s shoulder. ‘You okay?’  
Roger nodded. He claimed he was fine but Miami thought he was subdued for the rest of the night.

  
*

  
He ended up spending the first of many nights on their extremely uncomfortable sofa. He called in sick to work the following day. (I’m proud of you, dear!) Then he took them to a small cafe nearby and bought them breakfast.

  
‘I think I love you,’ Roger said solemnly, elbows on the checked tablecloth amidst the debris of the cooked breakfast he had just demolished. ‘Will you marry me?’

  
In a heartbeat, Miami thought.

  
Freddie punched Roger’s arm. ‘You are spoken for, darling!’

  
‘Ow! Miami’s a better catch. No offence,’ Roger joked.

  
‘Can’t imagine why he would want you, then,’ John remarked.

  
‘I’m amazing!’ Roger protested.

  
Brian snorted. ‘At what?’ He held his hand up to silence Roger. ‘What are you amazing at that isn’t work related?’

  
‘Cooking! I do most of the cleaning! I’m great at getting stains out of things!’

  
‘You are the main reason things get stained in the first place,’ Brian noted.

  
Roger pouted. ‘I’d make a great wife! I’m very good at suck...’ This was cut short as John placed his hand firmly over Roger’s mouth.

  
‘We are in public,’ John reminded him.

  
‘Sucking things up with the vacuum cleaner?’ Miami suggested and felt warm inside when they all laughed. ‘I’m sure you’d make a lovely wife, Roger; I’m scared of commitment though,' he lied.

  
In. A. Heartbeat.

  
‘What a waste,’ Roger sighed, and then brightened. ‘You could still be our sugar-daddy!’ He registered their confusion. ‘No, that’s not what I mean, is it? Our...patron? You could be our patron! Buy us stuff!’

  
Brian rolled his eyes. ‘I do apologise, Mr. Beach. We have looked for an ‘off’ switch but he doesn’t seem to have one...’

  
‘I don’t think I’m rich enough, Roger. I could buy you all the occasional meal, though, if you would allow that?’ They constantly looked like they were on the brink of starvation. At least this way he would know they were eating something.

  
Roger leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks for breakfast, Miami.’ He glanced around at the others. ‘I think we’d be happy for you to feed us.’ He suddenly looked anxious. ‘Oh. It’s not... I shouldn’t have asked for money...’ He ducked his head, hiding behind a curtain of hair.

  
‘It’s not the same, Roger,’ Miami assured him gently. ‘Allowing a friend who can afford things you can’t to treat you is not the same at all. Okay? Besides, when you are rich and famous you can treat me.’

  
He was jealous when Freddie reached over to smooth Roger’s hair. He envied their casual intimacy.

  
*

  
The next meeting in Ray Foster’s office was acrimonious from the outset. It ended with Freddie shouting, ‘Fuck your contract!’ and starting to make a dramatic exit.

  
‘Do you really want the whole world to know your drummer used to be a cheap whore?’ Foster sneered. ‘Because that is what is going to happen if you mince out of here and break your contract.’

  
Freddie, who had reached the door, whirled round. ‘Since he wasn’t, you have no proof.’

  
‘Don’t I, though? Roger, sweetheart, tell them how you used to earn a living.’

  
The band had all started to follow Freddie to the door. Roger was hiding behind Brian.

  
Miami propelled himself off the wall and wandered over to Foster’s desk. ‘My client’s have nothing to say to you, Mr. Foster. Your attempt to blackmail Mr. Taylor puts you in breach of your contract with the band. I shall have the necessary paperwork drawn up to end the contract.’

  
He leaned across the desk towards Ray Foster. ‘Any repetition of the scurrilous lies you have told about Mr. Taylor in this room will result in legal action.’

  
‘It’s no lie!’ Foster pointed at Roger. ‘That boy used to dress as a girl and fuck respectable businessmen for money! He’s depraved!’

  
‘Sit down!’ Miami thundered. ‘There is no possible way you can prove these outrageous allegations in a court of law, Mr. Foster, so I strongly suggest you apologise to Mr. Taylor forthwith.’

  
Foster stared at him, half out of his seat, flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth, eyes bulging. ‘He is a little pervert! You want me to apologise to _that_?’

  
‘I certainly do, Mr. Foster. At once, please.’

  
Miami stared at Foster. Foster looked away first.

  
‘Fine. I apologise.’ Foster looked furious. ‘But just because I can’t prove it doesn’t mean it isn’t fucking true!’

  
Miami stared at each occupant of the room in turn, except the band. ‘I suggest that everyone in this room forgets what Mr. Foster has insinuated about my client unless they want to find themselves on the wrong side of a law suit.’

  
He swept out of the room with the band following in their customary protective formation around Roger.

  
*

  
No one spoke until they had left the building and were grouped on the steps. Roger emerged from his protective cocoon and launched himself at Miami, flinging his arms around him. ‘You were amazing! Thank you!’ He burst into tears on Miami’s shoulder.

  
Miami held him tightly. ‘We might have to cut back on eating out until you can actually afford to pay me for my services,’ he said lightly.

  
John nodded. ‘Thank you. We’ll find a way to pay you, I promise,’ he assured Miami. ‘Eventually,’ he added, for the sake of honesty.

  
‘I know,’ Miami replied. He did know, he realised. He had faith in them.

  
‘How did you know he wouldn’t be able to prove anything?’ Brian asked.

  
‘Any creditable witness would effectively be confessing they knew, or suspected, the existence of a paedophile ring. Roger hasn’t done anything wrong but all Foster’s informants have,’ Miami explained.

  
He allowed himself to stroke Roger’s hair. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  
*

  
They sat around the kitchen table drinking tea. ‘You’re staring, Fred,’ Roger said wearily. ‘Have I got something on my face?’

  
To everyone’s surprise, Freddie blushed. ‘I’m just trying to imagine you dressed as a woman, dear,’ he confessed.

  
Roger grinned. ‘You’d be amazed!’

  
Freddie beamed at him. ‘Would you do it, dearest? Would you let us dress you up as a woman and take you out?’

  
Miami almost choked on his tea. ‘If you do, then can I come?’ he heard himself ask.

  
‘Of course, darling, everyone’s welcome!’ Freddie’s eyes searched Roger’s face. ‘What do you say, Roger, dear? Do we have a date?’

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, then thank you for reading! 
> 
> In my head, when I started to write this, it was going to be Freddie and Rogerina having a night out and Brian struggling with that. But this happened instead.
> 
> I'd love to know what you think...


End file.
